A Sequel
by Quark87
Summary: I need help with a title: any ideas, please let me know!  I don't really know if there is going to be another Harry Potter book or not, but I thought it might be fun to write one, so here it is. Enjoy! :
1. Chapter 1

_**Nineteen Years Later**_

1

_The sun was going down over the Forbidden Forest, and a light breeze rustled the dark green leaves of the trees. They swayed softly, as though they were whispering secrets that only they could know. Animals and magical creatures alike were alert all through the forest, waiting for a sound, any sound, that would break the eerie silence. To Harry Potter, it seemed as though the leaves and vines were reaching for him, like cold clammy hands grabbing his wrists and arms as he ran down the path towards what he knew was certain death. He couldn't remember why he was running or where he was going, but the same words kept echoing through his mind:_

"_You have one hour."_

_ He slowed to a stop as he reached the clearing, but never got a chance to catch his breath. A burst of green light shot through the air and struck him, forcing him to the ground as the scar on his forehead burst to life with a blast of white hot pain. He felt a pair of hands on his shoulders, and then the world went black._

Ginny Potter awoke to Harry mumbling in his sleep. She shook him awake and he sat bolt upright in bed, panting and gasping as though out of breath. He seized his glasses from the bedside table, jumped out of bed and began pacing furiously across the room, rubbing his scar furiously with his left forefinger.

"Are you alright, dear?" she asked, squinting at him in the near darkness.

"Nineteen years," he muttered, still pacing. "Nineteen years without a nightmare or a flashback, without even _thinking_ about any of it!"

"Is it…back? Your scar?"

"I don't know. I could have just dreamed it." He paused. "But why today? It just doesn't make sense." Harry stopped pacing and turned to face his wife.

"Maybe…" Ginny replied, "maybe you're just nervous about Albus going off to Hogwarts for the first time."

"Maybe," Harry answered, sitting on the edge of the bed. "I have to say I'm afraid for him in a way I never was for James."

"He is definitely…different, isn't he?"

Harry nodded. "Very different."

"I'm nervous for him, too," Ginny replied, sitting up and dangling her legs over the side of the bed. "He's so small for his age, and…shy."

"It's not shyness. It's not that he's afraid to play with the other children- he just doesn't want to."

"He's just introverted and a little bookish, that's all," Ginny said rather defensively.

"But he doesn't read books, Ginny! At least not storybooks or poetry or even history textbooks! He's only ever had an interest in your dusty old spellbooks and potions recipes," Harry sighed.

"He does like his magic, that's for sure," said Ginny. "Why, only yesterday I had to scold him again for changing a pot of geraniums into a jewel-shelled tortoise."

"See what I mean?"

"It was a very good tortoise," Ginny said softly. "It was almost a shame to make him change it back."

"You're too soft on him, Ginny."

"Don't you see, dear? He's a prodigy!"

"I know," Harry whispered. "And that's what scares me the most."


	2. Chapter 2

2

"What is that?" Ron asked as he stumbled into the kitchen, yawning.

"It's called a laptop. Strange new Muggle invention. I'm using it to make a Web page for S.P.E.L." Hermione replied, peering at the screen.

"I'm not even going to ask what a Web page is," said Ron, starting to make himself a cup of coffee.

"Best idea you've had in a long time," Hermione answered, winking at him.

Ron slid into the seat across from her with a grin. "I still think you should change the name back to spew."

"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about. Society for the Promotion of Elvish Liberty is a wonderful name," Hermione said curtly, but she was smiling, too. She closed the laptop and walked toward the stove to start breakfast.

"You were up all night," Ron stated, taking another drink of his coffee.

"There were a lot of things I needed to get done," Hermione said quickly.

"You weren't thinking about Rose?"

Hermione paused. "Maybe a little."

An owl tapped on the window with a Daily Prophet around its leg. Ron opened the window to let it in and tucked a few knuts into the pouch tied to its leg. As the owl flew off, he glanced at the cover story briefly-something involving new fountains in the Ministry of Magic Atrium-and tossed it casually onto the kitchen table. "I don't see why you're worried about her," he said to his wife. "The girl makes friends wherever she goes."

"That's not all there is to school, Ron," Hermione replied a bit testily. "Rose wouldn't crack open a book if you paid her a thousand Galleons to do it!"

"She doesn't need to, Hermione," Ron answered. "She inherited your brains."

"None of that matters if she doesn't apply herself! She'll probably skip every class to go run off and play Quidditch with the boys, just like she's done every day this summer."

"She'll calm down eventually. Let her be a kid for a little while longer. It goes by much too fast."

"I didn't know there was actually thought that complex in that brain of yours, Ron Weasley," Hermione teased.

Ron grinned and ruffled her hair playfully. "Sometimes I even surprise myself."

Hermione opened her mouth to reply but was cut off by a frantic meow as her cat, Lilliput, burst into the kitchen from the drawing room, where she had been sleeping. She dashed behind the stove and crouched there, ears pressed flat against her head, hissing loudly. Hermione pulled out her wand and walked into the drawing room, where she noticed that the fireplace, previously empty, was now nearly overflowing with crackling green flames. "Ron, someone's coming!" she called.

Her husband followed her into the drawing room, mumbling. "Completely without warning, and at six am? I only know one person this could be."

A rushing noise echoed down the chimney and a man came spinning into view, panting and choking on ash. He tumbled out of the fireplace, adjusting his cloak nervously, looking disheveled and utterly miserable. "Hello, Percy," Ron said stiffly.

"Good morning, Ron. Good morning, Hermione." Percy Weasley's voice was soft, almost a whisper. He glanced around furtively, as if to make sure no one was listening.

"Congratulations on being elected Minister of Magic," Ron said with a bit less enthusiasm than the statement warranted. "I see you have everything you ever wanted now."

"To tell you the truth, Ron," Percy began uncomfortably, twisting the edge of his cloak around his finger, "this job isn't all it's cracked up to be. It's been a hell of a first week in office-what with the North Street bridge collapsing, the disappearance of those two little Muggle girls, and just yesterday that breakout from Azkaban…"

"Breakout from Azkaban!" Hermione exclaimed. "Percy…"

"FOUNTAINS?" Ron bellowed. The room went quiet.

"What?" said Percy and Hermione in unison.

"Attacks on Muggles, now a breakout from Azkaban, and the front page of the Daily Prophet is an article about fountains!" Ron roared. "Don't you think the Wizarding world has the right to know about these things?"

"Ron, if you only knew what we've been going through!" Percy said, almost pleading. "Bad press would only make the situation worse! How do you think the people would feel if they suddenly found out that their comfortable peace of almost nineteen years has been shattered? There would be an uproar! I would be chased out of my office!"

"So you _lie_ to them?"

"It's not lying Ron, its keeping the public sane!"

"You're worthless!"

"Ron, listen," said Hermione, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Maybe it's better if everyone doesn't know right away. If things can be…hushed up quickly, the Ministry will have saved the country a lot of worry."

Percy burst right in, looking suddenly as though he was in a terrible hurry. "Yes, yes, that's what I came to see you about. I'm calling an emergency meeting of the First Auror Committee right away, to deal with the breakout from Azkaban. I want a meeting in progress, at the headquarters, in at least a half hour, the sooner the better."

Ron stared at his brother, the anger not quite gone from his eyes. "You don't control us, Percy. We will be there after we see our daughter off on the Hogwarts Express." He walked back into the kitchen without another word.

Percy looked as though he wanted to fight this, but thought better of it. "Very well. I must be off. Plenty of important business to attend to." He was back to his usual pompous tone, back to hiding his worry under a calm political façade. "Oh, and would you mind letting the Potters know about the meeting? You will see them at the station, I trust."

"Of course," said Hermione, turning to go.

"Hermione?" Percy asked, as he held the handful of Floo Powder over the fireplace.

"Yes?"

"Do you think I could get him to call me Minister?"

Hermione closed her eyes for a few seconds, then opened them again. "Percy, just go," she said, shaking her head back and forth. Blushing a bit, he turned and stepped into the emerald green flames and was gone without another word.


	3. Chapter 3

3

It was the last thing Scorpius Malfoy wanted to be doing on his last day of summer. He hated calling hours; endless hours of dodging relatives dressed in black, none of which he knew but all who, strangely, seemed to know him. His mother stood by the casket, accepting consolations from her black-cloaked friends, all with false expressions of sadness on their faces. She cried, but Scorpius knew that the tears were false. His mother hadn't cried before when St. Mungo's sent her the notice that old Marelda Black had died; as a matter of fact, she had never showed the slightest interest in her great-aunt at all, often referring to her as "that old hag". Only after it had been discovered that Marelda had left quite a sum of money behind, with no will to speak of, had Scorpius's mother dropped her coolly indifferent attitude and suddenly decided that her old spinster great-aunt was her favorite relative.

Scorpius had learned all of this and more from peering through keyholes and listening under doors, invisible as always. He had spent eleven lonely years living with his social-climbing parents, who cared about as much for him as they had cared for Marelda Black while she was alive. He had never gotten along with the haughty children of his parents' friends; just like their mothers and fathers, they didn't seem to know how to do anything but brag. Scorpius's only companion was his toy broomstick, and his only form of entertainment was flying around the grounds of Malfoy Manor, exploring. He had been flying the broom since his eighth birthday, when his father had given it to him as a gift. Neither of his parents had acknowledged one of his birthdays since.

He ducked under the casket to avoid a woman who claimed to be his grandmother and was trying to corner him. Scorpius didn't want to be inside this stuffy room full of fake people and fake emotions- he wanted to be in the sky, the wind whipping through his long, untidy blond hair, crashing through tree branches only because his toy broom wouldn't take him over their tops. "If I have to be here," he whispered quietly to himself, "they could at least open the casket so I could see a dead body." But they hadn't, so Scorpius had to amuse himself by eavesdropping, yet again.

"I am so sorry for your loss, Pansy," he heard a woman say.

"Thank you, Rita," his mother replied, her voice choked with fake tears. "This is such a sad day for our family."

"And for you, especially!" continued Rita. "Why, you knew her better than anyone, didn't you?"

"I did," replied Pansy with a sniffle. "I always loved my great-aunt Marelda- she was like a second mother to me. I felt like I could tell her anything!"

"If you were so close, do you think you could tell me…"Rita began, "could you tell me…now I don't mean to pry, it's just natural curiosity, of course, why wouldn't it be when your family tree is so pure and so untainted by non-magical blood, it's natural that anyone would be curious about its members…"

"What is it, Rita."

"Well, I was just wondering…why she never married." Rita paused. "She was the prettiest witch in England in her day, from what I've heard, and-"

"Well, maybe she never found anyone who was worthy of her," said Pansy quickly, cutting her off.

"Of course, of course," Rita replied, sounding uncomfortable. "It's just…the rumors that are going around, Pansy! They're atrocious!" Her voice dropped to a whisper.

"And what sorts of rumors are these, exactly?" Pansy asked rather sharply, all traces of the last sniffle gone from her voice.

"Well, there has been talk of- and I hate to repeat this, Pansy, but this is what people are saying- there has been talk of the Dark Arts, suspicions that she may have been..."

"The Dark Arts! Rita, how could you say such a thing! On this day that we are honoring her memory!" The room had fallen silent. Scorpius poked his head out from under the black tablecloth to see that everyone was staring at his mother and Rita, with only contempt in their eyes for the latter. Rita adjusted her jeweled spectacles nervously as she tried to save face, a look of panic in her eyes.

"Of course I didn't mean that they were true, Pansy, how could you ever think it! I only meant to tell you…" She trailed off as Scorpius's father crossed the room and put an arm around his wife, who had resumed her sniffling.

"I think it may be best if you leave, Rita," he said quietly.

"But, Draco," Rita pleaded, but stopped after she saw the look in his eyes. She glanced around nervously, then ran from the room without another word.

The door slammed shut and people gradually began to talk again. Scorpius stood up and walked across the room to the window, which had miraculously been opened. He stood there, staring at the clouds, while all thoughts of Marelda Black vanished from his mind.


	4. Chapter 4

4

The crimson red steam engine barreled through the countryside, with trees, meadows and farms flashing by. Albus Potter sat facing the window, nose pressed up against the glass, staring intently at the landscape as though it was the most fascinating sight in the world. His compartment was far from empty- it was packed with eager first years nervously discussing what houses they hoped to be put in- but Albus was too afraid to join in. He wasn't afraid of his fellow students, like many other shy children, but rather of the topic which they were discussing. Only a few hours ago, he had finally worked up the nerve to ask his father the question that he feared the most:

"What if I'm in Slytherin?"

The words had haunted him since his eleventh birthday, the day his long-awaited letter from Hogwarts had finally come. They followed him wherever he went, hanging over his head like an imperturbable fog. They ruined his appetite, clouded his vision and muddled his thoughts. They crept into his mind during the day and danced through his dreams at night. No matter how hard he tried, Albus couldn't escape those words.

But now, new words had joined them. "The Sorting Hat takes your choice into account. It did for me." Was that really what he had heard his father say? Albus was sure he had been mistaken. Had the hat really tried to put his father, the famous Harry Potter, into a house other than Gryffindor? There wasn't a braver, more courageous wizard alive and everyone knew it. Albus was puzzled by his father's words, but they bounced through his head nonetheless, joining his earlier chant: "What if I'm in Slytherin? What if I'm in Slytherin?"

"I'm going to be a Hufflepuff, of course," said Trevor Macmillan, puffing out his chest just like his father.

"I actually don't think Ravenclaw sounds that bad," replied Aislinn Finnegan, unwrapping a chocolate frog.

"Did somebody say Ravenclaw?" asked Rose Weasley as she slid open the compartment door. Aislinn nodded and Rose shuddered. "Oh, I would just die. All that studying! That's all they do, you know, is study all the time." She struck a grand pose and said rather pompously: "Good thing I'm going to be in Gryffindor!"

"Well, of course you are," said a small, thin boy seated in the corner, who no one seemed to know. "You're a Weasley!"

"And Albus is going to be in Gryffindor, too, of course," Rose continued as though the boy hadn't even spoken, taking a seat next to her cousin.

Albus was jerked suddenly out of his thoughts. "What? Oh, yes, of course I'll be in Gryffindor." He didn't sound convincing, even to himself. Noticing for the first time that everyone was looking at him, Albus turned quickly and went back to staring out of the window, remaining there, motionless, for the rest of the ride.

It was evening when the students clambered off of the Hogwarts Express. The upperclassmen piled into the long row of carriages drawn by invisible thestrals, leaving the first years standing around in a nervous clump, waiting to board the boats that would take them to the castle. An elderly giant, his back stooped with age and his long black hair and beard streaked with grey, led them slowly and laboriously down the hill to the water, his lantern held high.

"Yeh all right, Albus?" Rubeus Hagrid asked as Albus stepped shakily into one of the tiny boats. "Yeh're lookin a bit green." Albus managed to nod and Hagrid said nothing more, but he didn't seem entirely convinced.

"Get a grip, Albus," he muttered to himself as the castle came into view. The girl in the boat next to him stared at him funny, but Albus didn't notice. He needed to be brave, and start acting that way now, if he wanted to even have a hope of getting into Gryffindor. He stood up straight as he climbed out of the boat and marched up the castle steps with his classmates, feigning confidence with every step.

The door was opened by a small, young-looking professor with scraggly hair and pale blue eyes much too large for her face. Albus recognized her at once: Luna Lovegood was a close family friend and often came for tea on the weekends. She winked playfully at Albus and Rose as they filed in, then closed the door quietly behind them.

"I'm Professor Lovegood, and I teach Astronomy here at Hogwarts," she began in a way that sounded as though the majority of her thoughts were somewhere else. "I am also the head of Ravenclaw house. Now, in a few minutes you will be going into the Great Hall to be sorted; as soon as the Sorting Hat has calmed down a bit. It was pitching a fit earlier about the dust inside of its cabinet- it can be quite fussy, you know." This got a few nervous laughs and weak smiles out of the jittery first years.

"Don't be nervous," Luna continued. "Really, Hogwarts is nothing to worry about. The Forbidden Forest isn't scary during the day, the stairs to the Divination Tower only lead to a different place every other Thursday, and the girls' bathroom on the second floor has been locked with an Unbreakable Seal charm. You all will be just fine." And with that, she removed a scroll from the pocket of her robes and pushed open the doors to the Great Hall.

As soon as he entered, Albus found himself wishing that his last name started with an A or a B. The curious, eager gazes of the students at the long house table bore into him and made him feel as though he was melting into a puddle on the floor. Albus tried to stand up straight, but couldn't stop shaking. He spotted the long, crimson-draped table where the elder Gryffindors sat, and wanted more than anything else in the world to be sitting on the bench next to them right now, with this ordeal over. He stared at the hat, perched on its stool, looking a bit disgruntled but nevertheless ready to put Albus's bravery to the test.

"Alton, Nerissa."

"SLYTHERIN!"

Albus gulped. It had only taken a few seconds for that girl to be handed the fate which he was trying so hard to avoid.

Time crawled by at an almost molasses-like pace, until finally:

"Perkins, MacKenzie."

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Potter, Albus."

He stepped forward slowly, his legs feeling like jelly, and collapsed into the stool. He would beg, he decided. He would beg and plead with the hat to put him in Gryffindor, get down on his knees if he had to, right there in the Great Hall in front of everyone. It would work. His father couldn't possibly have lied to him.

Then Albus felt the floppy cloth of the hat coming to rest on the top of his head, and suddenly his whole mind went blank. All of the things he had decided to do, everything he had wanted to say, were chased out of his head. The only thing that remained was the chant that had bounced around in his brain all day, all summer, all year, ever since that letter had come. "What if I'm in Slytherin? What if I'm in Slytherin?"

"Slytherin, eh?" he heard the hat say quietly into his ear. "Well, if you insist."

Albus didn't realize what had happened until he heard the hat shout it out for the whole Great Hall to hear:

"SLYTHERIN!"


	5. Chapter 5

5

Scorpius had to admit that the Great Hall was impressive. The long, ornate house tables were packed with students, while professors stared down at them from the even longer and more ornate High Table. Tall marble columns stretched up to the ceiling, which changed every day depending on the weather. Tonight, it was perfectly clear and black, with a few twinkling stars just starting to come out. Scorpius, bored as usual, tried to find the Big Dipper while he waited for his name to be called.

He hadn't bothered to join in the conversations that his fellow first years were having about what houses they hoped to be put in. There was no doubt about it- Scorpius Malfoy was going to be in Slytherin. His father, his mother, and everybody else in his long line of proud, pureblood ancestors had been in that house, too; there was no reason why Scorpius should not be. He definitely had no intention of breaking the tradition, for he knew all too well that his father would probably disown him.

He was so busy scanning the crowded benches at the Slytherin table, looking for a place to sit among the green-and-black-clad figures, that he didn't notice his name had been called.

"Malfoy, Scorpius... Malfoy, Scorpius?"

"Oh, sorry, Professor," Scorpius mumbled, almost running to the stool. The brim of the Sorting Hat flopped down over his eyes as he waited for it to call out the name of his house. To his surprise, the Hat spoke in his ear:

"Hmm, interesting, very interesting…"

"I'm interesting?" Scorpius said quietly to the Hat. It ignored him.

"Powerful bloodlines here, yes, very powerful, I think there are many who would want me to put you in Slytherin…don't even think about standing up, young man, I haven't finished yet…there's more to you than this, much more to you…there's strength hidden deep inside you, you will be a great wizard someday…and bravery, oh yes, a powerful bravery…"

"Wait, what?" Scorpius almost said it out loud. He had never before heard anything resembling what the Hat was now saying to him. Strong? Brave? Hadn't the "friends" of his childhood always called him a wimp? Didn't his father ignore him precisely because there wasn't much to pay attention to?

"A wizard like you, I think, would find himself best suited to GRYFFINDOR!"

The Sorting Hat shouted the last word for the entire Hall to hear. Scorpius remained seated, unable to move, as the long table furthest from the door burst into applause. He felt himself being prodded forward, being swept along towards that table, where everyone was decked out in red: red scarves, red hats, red ties…

He was sitting on a bench now, with an empty golden plate in front of him, feeling as though he was awakening from a dream. Prefects and seventh-years and all sorts of other students were cheering and smiling. Scorpius glanced across the room at the Slytherin table; why wasn't he there? It was where he belonged. As much as he was enjoying the sudden burst of attention, Scorpius was sad and confused.

The students at his table cheered again as a small, red-haired girl walked confidently toward the table and slid into the seat directly across from Scorpius. "Hi, I'm Rose," she said, almost too enthusiastically. "Are you alright? You look a bit ill."

"I-I'm fine," Scorpius replied, looking down. Rose obviously knew he was lying, but she chose to ignore it.

"This sucks, doesn't it?" she sighed instead. "I hate school. It's useless. What are you going to learn anyway that you can't figure out for yourself by waving your wand around and saying a few funny words? All this castle and sorting and houses stuff is bogus." A Prefect shushed her, but Rose just rolled her eyes.

Scorpius was shocked by this girl, but he couldn't help but like her and her blunt honesty. He was starting to feel a little bit better.

The Great Hall burst into applause once again, and Professor Lovegood left, carrying the hat and the stool. The Sorting was over, and Scorpius suddenly realized that he was starving. He stared at his plate expectantly, but it was obviously not time to eat yet; a tall, intimidating-looking older professor had just stood up from her place in the center of the High Table. She didn't need to ask for quiet, because the entire room fell silent as soon as she was on her feet. Scorpius felt as though her eyes were drilling holes through his head, and he got the impression that everyone else in the room felt the same way.

"Good evening," the woman began. "I am Minerva McGonagall, headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry." There was no applause- the headmistress did not seem to expect any. She continued. "Before we eat, I would like to remind everyone of a few rules and regulations. The Forbidden Forest is off limits to all students. Magic of any sort is prohibited in the corridors. Hogsmeade visits are only for third years and above who have been given appropriate parental consent. First years are not allowed their own brooms."

McGonagall took a breath, then resumed her speech. "I also feel it necessary to introduce our students to a few staff changes. Due to Professor Fievre's well-deserved retirement after nineteen years of teaching, the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher has been filled by Professor Atticus Lockmeade." She gestured with a jerky hand motion to a rough-looking man three seats to the right of her, who nodded in subtle acknowledgement. "Also," continued McGonagall, "the duties of caretaker, so diligently carried out for almost fifty years by Mr. Argus Filch, were handed over earlier this summer to Mr. Erebus Lurchmiller, as a result of Mr. Filch's sudden death from a heart attack. That will be all." The headmistress sat down and the Hall sprung to life again, as dishes upon dishes of delicious-looking food suddenly appeared on all the tables.

Scorpius dug in eagerly. He wasn't alone. For several minutes, the entire Gryffindor table was quiet as the students stuffed themselves with steak, ham, roast chicken, buttered rolls, pudding, and a number of other mouthwatering dishes. The silence was soon broken, of course, by Rose, who seemed to be enjoying trying to make conversation with the still-dazed Scorpius.

"Do you like to play Quidditch?" she asked, cutting a piece of chicken.

Scorpius nodded, his mouth full of roll. "I love it," Rose continued. "I'd play all day if I could, and do nothing else. I think its bogus that first years aren't allowed their own brooms, don't you?"

Scorpius nodded again, only with a forkful of salad this time. Rose kept talking. "But that's not going to stop me from going out for the team next year and every year after that! I've made up my mind that I'm going to be the greatest Chaser that Gryffindor house has ever seen!"

"That's great," said Scorpius quietly, scanning the table for a bowl of mashed potatoes.

"You should try out too, next year!"

"I wouldn't be very good, Rose, I haven't had much practice." It was the truth; Scorpius had flown all his life, but had only ever touched a quaffle once or twice. It wasn't any fun with nobody to throw it to.

"Nonsense! You're just being modest. Oh, what's your name, by the way? I'm sorry, I completely forgot to ask."

"Scorpius. Scorpius Malfoy."

"Malfoy. Your name sounds awfully familiar." Rose paused, as if she was thinking, then shrugged and turned back to her dinner. "Probably just something my parents were saying. I don't pay attention to them all that much. There are so many more interesting things to do."

Dessert came, and Scorpius had to eat some, even though he was stuffed. This resulted in his robes being uncomfortably tight as he followed the Prefects up several flights of winding staircases to Gryffindor Tower. The overweight woman in the portrait accepted the password (flibbertigibbet) and let the horde of new Gryffindors through the common room and into their dormitories. Scorpius was too tired and full to notice his surroundings, or even to dwell on what would happen once his family learned the news of his house assignment. There wasn't much he wanted to do but climb into his four-poster bed and fall asleep.


	6. Chapter 6

6

Lily Potter flopped down on the couch with a disgruntled huff. "Two more years!" she exclaimed. "Two more whole years until I get to go to Hogwarts, and Albus gets to go now, when he doesn't even want to! He's just as happy wandering around the neighborhood, turning geraniums into gerbils and never seeing any excitement, but its him that gets to go and not me! It just isn't fair!" She crossed her arms over her chest and narrowed her eyes.

"And that means two more years of that bloody Muggle prep school," Hugo Weasley answered. A mischievous smile passed across his face. "Hey, Lily, that's the first time I've ever said "bloody" without Mum scolding me!"

"Oh, never mind that," said Lily sulkily. "We can't just sit here and let this happen to us! We have to do something while we have the chance!" The nine-year-old cousins had been left at home alone in Lily's house, which their overprotective parents usually didn't let happen.

"We should run away," said Hugo. "We should leave Godric's Hollow forever!" He paused for a second, then added, "but where would we go?"

"Hogwarts!" Lily cried, leaping to her feet. "We'll go there and beg them to take us. Why, we'll _make_ them take us! I'm not sure how, but we'll make them!"

"And we'll have a grand adventure on the way!" Hugo replied. "Maybe even with dragons! Do you think we'll see a dragon, Lily?"

"We might," said Lily mysteriously. She grabbed her worn, brown book bag off of a chair. The bag had carried three years worth of Lily's homework: worksheets crammed with long division problems, rows of cursive letters to copy, long lists of countries and capitals to memorize. As she hoisted the empty backpack onto her back, Lily vowed that she would never see the inside of a Muggle fourth grade classroom. She was done. It was time for her to have her grand adventure.

Hugo followed her into the kitchen. "We should bring some food, Lily," he said, grabbing a loaf of bread off of the counter. They stuffed it into Lily's bag, along with a hunk of cheese, two apples, and a Thermos of water.

"We must be prepared," Lily lectured Hugo, as if she had been the one to bring up the topic of food. "Good explorers should never go hungry." Hugo nodded patiently as he zipped up the bag. Lily shouldered it excitedly and slid open the screen door. The young explorers locked the door behind them as they crossed the patio, dashed across the lawn, and opened the gate.


	7. Chapter 7

7

"Present your wands for identification, please," yawned the balding old wizard who was slumped at his desk, spectacles sliding down his nose. He gave Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny a quick once-over and their wands a perfunctory glance before waving them through and putting his head back down on his desk.

"Great security we have here," muttered Harry, not really upset. For nineteen years, all the Ministry's safety measures could very well have vanished and nobody would have noticed or cared. With Voldemort and his Death Eaters gone, there was nothing to fear from anyone, and even the casual wand inspection required for entry into the top secret offices of the Aurors now seemed like a waste of time.

"So, how much do you think Percy was exaggerating?" Ron asked Harry as they strolled down the corridor, stuffing their wands back into their pockets.

"As much as he exaggerated everything in his campaign for Minister," Harry answered, and both laughed.

"Wouldn't be the first time," said Ron. It was true; the Ministry was always finding Dark wizards where there weren't any, and sending their elite, highly trained First Auror Committee into embarrassing but completely non-dangerous situations. False alarms often included warnings by fake psychics who pretended to see Dark spirits in people's homes, and attention-seeking children who pretended to be bewitched to get their parents to notice them. The Minister of Magic before Percy had even sent the entire Committee to go investigate a woman's teapot, which she claimed was bewitched with Dark magic and trying to bite her fingers off. It had turned out to be just a simple Vivification Charm, easily reversible, cast on the teapot by the woman's next door neighbor, angry because the woman had de-gnomed her garden and sent the gnomes flying into her neighbor's hydrangea bushes.

To be honest with himself, however, Harry partially enjoyed the wild goose chases that he was sent on by the Ministry. They broke the monotony of his everyday job, where he mainly provided background checks of new ministry employees and taught classes in the Auror Training Center. Once in a million times it was interesting. Harry remembered when James had been young, and he and the neighborhood boys had run around Godric's Hollow, brandishing fake wands and pretending to be Aurors. They climbed trees and hid behind bushes, pretended to duel invisible Death Eaters, and fought over who got to kill Voldemort in the end. Harry had watched them from his window, and wished that they would never have to grow up and realize that, while it paid well and gave long vacations, there was nothing glamorous, or even particularly important, about being an Auror.

"I wouldn't be so quick to scoff," chided Hermione. "A breakout from Azkaban is nothing to laugh at if Percy is right."

"Oh, come off it, Hermione," Ron said, rolling his eyes. "Wasn't the last 'breakout from Azkaban' just someone's owl getting lost over the sea near the prison and flying back at three in the morning?"

"It was a pet canary, actually," Ginny corrected. Hermione pursed her lips disdainfully while the other three grinned. As Harry suppressed a chuckle, however, he was suddenly reminded of the pain in his scar that he thought he'd felt the night before. He dwelled on it for a moment, then shrugged it off. It had just been a dream; just a nervous dream, he was sure of it.

The four Aurors had reached the end of the corridor. They pushed open the door to the Circular Chamber, the official meeting room of the First Auror Committee, and stepped inside. The Circular Chamber was about as glamorous as the Auror's job itself; an ordinary, windowless office space with bare walls and fluorescent lights. It wasn't even circular- it was shaped more like an ellipse with squared-off edges. The only furniture in the room was a long, mahogany table surrounded by nine chairs: one for each of the eight Committee members and one at the head of the table for the Minister, who wasn't, at the moment, present.

Kingsley Shacklebolt and Bill Weasley waved at the four newcomers from their seats on one side of the table. They had hopeful expressions on their faces, and Harry thought he understood why. Kingsley, the oldest member of the Committee, had been an Auror before the Second Wizarding War, back when the job actually bore a resemblance to the games that James and his friends had played. The old Auror had fought for peace as hard as anyone, but Harry suspected that, like him, Kingsley was craving a bit of action. Bill, who's face had been permanently scarred during the First Battle of Hogwarts, had been recruited by the Ministry shortly after the war ended to help with the tracking down of Death Eaters who were on the run. As much as he had enjoyed his job at first, it sometimes seemed as though Bill wished he had kept his old position at Gringotts instead of giving in to the Ministry's wishes. His old job would certainly be a more exciting one now.

As Harry slid into his seat across from Kingsley, he glanced over at Howard Finch and Tim Worrell, who were poring over some important-looking pieces of parchment. Harry didn't really care for these two newest additions to the committee, who had been appointed by the Minister after the retirement of Hestia Jones and Sturgis Podmore. They often acted more like politicians than Aurors, getting over-enthusiastic about the Ministry's misguided assignments and feeling just a little bit too good about themselves after their tasks were complete. Finch and Worrell didn't even look up to acknowledge Harry, who had to laugh silently at their high-quality black silk robes: the Auror uniform, which no other member of the Committee had touched in years. With Kingsley and Bill in casual work robes and Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny still in the Muggle clothing that they had worn to King's Cross, the two looked very out of place in the under-decorated Circular Chamber.

"Where's Percy?" Ginny asked, glancing around the room as if she suspected her brother was hiding in a corner.

"Went to get some coffee- for himself, of course," Kingsley replied. He leaned back in his chair and checked his watch. "He said he would be back five minutes ago."

As if on cue, the door to the Circular Chamber swung open and Percy entered. He walked across the room as though expecting a fanfare, but nothing happened, except that Finch and Worrell suddenly stopped talking and quickly turned to look at Percy. "Ah, I see the Potters and the Weasleys have cared to join us," he said, passing by the table a little too closely. Harry tried hard to suppress the sudden feeling that he was back in the Potions dungeon at Hogwarts and Snape was breathing down his neck.

Percy took his seat at the head of the table and pulled out a piece of parchment. "I hereby call this meeting of the First Auror Committee to order," he said. Worrell, who seemed to have appointed himself secretary, promptly began writing down the minutes.

"Then let's get on with it," Ron whispered, too softly for his brother to hear.

"We are here to address three important issues," Percy began. "These are matters, unlike any that we have encountered in a number of years, which I am led to believe are intertwined with Dark magic. The first is the collapse of the North Street bridge at two a.m. on Saturday. It was a small highway bridge near Hampshire, on which six cars were traveling at the time. Seven people were found dead, three were injured, all Muggles. None of this would be unusual, except for the fact that the bridge was only built last year, was designed by one of the leading architectural firms in the country, and built using some of the best steel available. Security footage of the incident doesn't indicate any weaknesses in the bridge, or any sort of attack or explosion that could have caused the bridge to suddenly collapse in on itself. The Muggle police are at a loss to explain this incident." Percy paused. "The Ministry believes that magic must have been involved."

Nobody on the Committee made any comment. Percy continued. "Then there is the matter of the missing McIntire girls: Sara, age eleven, and Emily, nine. Their mother, a teacher at the local Muggle elementary school, was taking her daughters for a walk in the woods. They never returned. On Sunday, the Muggle authorities found Teresa McIntire's body lying dead in a clearing about five miles from their home in Great Hangleton. They could determine no cause of death, and there was no sign of a struggle. We can only assume that Mrs. McIntire was murdered by the Avada Kedavra curse, and that whoever killed her also kidnapped her daughters."

"Is Great Hangleton anywhere close to Little Hangleton?" Harry asked, trying to keep his voice calm.

"Only a few miles down the road- why?"

"Nothing. No reason. Just curious," said Harry quickly. He wouldn't make eye contact with Ginny, who was giving him sideways looks.

Percy decided to ignore the whole exchange and continue with his speech. "And then we have the breakout from Azkaban. Just reported very early this morning. Authorities have investigated and this is not a hoax- six cells are empty. Six prisoners are on the loose."

"Who is missing?" Ron asked.

"Does it matter?" Percy said rather irately. "We still need to find them and bring them to justice!"

"It would be nice to know who we're looking for," reasoned Ginny.

Percy cleared his throat and glanced at his parchment. "Augustus Rookwood. Walden Macnair. Pius Thicknesse. Antonin Dolohov. Rodolphus Lestrange. Adriana Selwyn."

"All convicted Death Eaters," Bill mused. "All shut away for life. All of them in cells with the highest security possible."

"Percy, how did this happen!" Ginny exclaimed.

"We don't know," said Percy quietly, his usual pompous manner slipping away for a second, revealing the frightened man beneath.

"That's why we must investigate!" bellowed Finch, making quite a spectacle of himself by leaping out of his chair and pounding his fist on the table. Worrell nodded vigorously, still scribbling out the minutes.

Kingsley pulled out a piece of parchment as if to brainstorm. "How many Death Eaters are still in Azkaban? Bringing them in for questioning would probably be a good place to start."

"Well…I suppose that would depend on your definition of Death Eater," Percy wheedled.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Section 7 of revised Auror code 308 defines a Death Eater as 'any witch or wizard bearing an outward, physical sign of their connection with the Dark wizard Voldemort'- namely, the Dark Mark. How many inmates have the Dark Mark, Percy?"

"Six," Percy muttered, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. "Until this morning."

"You mean to say to us," Harry said, looking right at Percy, "that_ all_ of the Death Eaters still living have escaped?"

Percy gave an almost imperceptible nod. "I don't think I need to tell you to go find them," he replied, his voice almost a whisper. "This meeting of the First Auror Committee is now adjourned." Percy stood quickly, almost knocking over his chair, and practically dashed from the room.

Was it Harry's imagination, or had there been another quick twinge of pain in his scar?


	8. Chapter 8

8

It was six in the morning when Scorpius awoke. The dormitory was silent- the other Gryffindor boys were sound asleep in their four-poster beds, a few snoring quietly. Scorpius slowly swung his legs over the side of the bed, pulled on his robes quietly and tiptoed out of the room, so as not to disturb anyone else. He crossed the deserted common room, crawled through the portrait hole, and stood there, staring at the portrait. It's inhabitant, the overweight woman in the pink silk dressing gown, was snoozing comfortably. "Er…excuse me?" Scorpius whispered quietly. The woman in the portrait did not stir. "Excuse me!" he said a little louder.

The fat lady woke with a start. "This had better be important," she said grouchily, yawning and rubbing her eyes.

"Could you tell me where the headmistress's office is?"

"Down the stairs, turn right, turn left at the portrait of the knight on the pony, then turn right again at the end of the corridor," she said. "You woke me up just for that?"

"Thank you," said Scorpius, turning and dashing down the steps.

"She's not going to let you in before six forty-five, you know!" the disgruntled fat lady called after him. "Even if you know the password!" But Scorpius was already out of earshot.

Scorpius had made up his mind. The Sorting Hat had made a terrible mistake- it must have gotten him confused with someone else. There was no reason why he should not be in Slytherin; everyone in his family had been, and Scorpius had done nothing out of the ordinary to deserve to be put in Gryffindor instead. His family would never speak to him again if they found out, he was sure of it. This was why Scorpius was going down to Professor McGonagall's office, to clear up what he was positive was an easily remedied mistake.

As he approached the stone gargoyles in front of the headmistress's office, Scorpius realized that he was not alone. Another boy, small and scared-looking, stood there, leaning against the wall, patiently waiting. "Do you know the password?" the boy asked.

"You need a password to get in?" Scorpius replied.

"That's what they said," the boy answered, indicating the stone gargoyles.

"They _talk_?" Scorpius said incredulously, giving the ugly stone statues a once-over.

"Doesn't everything in this place?"

"True," replied Scorpius, breaking away from the gargoyles' icy glare. He signed. "I really need to get in! It's very important."

"Me too," the boy said. "You, see the Sorting Hat made a terrible mistake yesterday."

"It did!" Scorpius exclaimed. "It put me in Gryffindor by accident, when everybody in my family has always been in Slytherin, and my father will disown me if I'm not!"

"You _want_ to be in Slytherin? I would do anything to get out! I need to be in Gryffindor- or at least Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw! Anything but Slytherin!"

"There's got to be some way to switch houses," said Scorpius desperately. "If we just explain everything to the headmistress, she's got to let me just switch with you…I'm Scorpius, by the way, Scorpius Malfoy."

"Albus Potter," said the boy, shaking Scorpius's hand.

"Wait…is your father Harry Potter?" Albus nodded. "The famous one?" He nodded again. "No wonder you need to be in Gryffindor!"

"Like I said, the Hat made a terrible mistake!" Albus started to pace back and forth in front of the gargoyles. "If we just explain it all to her, she has to-"

"What are you boys doing here at this hour?" Albus and Scorpius jumped about a foot in the air; they hadn't even noticed that the headmistress had appeared behind them. They backed against the wall as she passed, for she was even more intimidating up close than she had been in the Great Hall.

"Expelliarmus," McGonagall snapped at the gargoyles, who immediately sprung to life and allowed her to pass. The boys stayed frozen where they were as the headmistress began to climb the short staircase into her office. "Well, don't just stand there," she said without turning around. "You're here, you might as well come in."

Albus and Scorpius clambered up the steps and entered the headmistress's office. It was surprisingly bare for a woman of her position. McGonagall's desk was plain and square, with nothing on the top except for a stack of parchment, a plain grey quill, and a bottle of ink. Aside from two chairs, one on either side of the desk, and a small stool in the far corner on which four books were stacked, there was no other furniture in the room. There was nothing decorative in the headmistress's office either; the only things on the walls were the portraits of the headmasters of Hogwarts, which Albus remembered his father once telling him about. As it was still not even seven o' clock, it didn't really surprise him that all of the headmasters were still sleeping soundly in their portraits.

As the headmistress shuffled the pieces of parchment on her desk and Scorpius stood there awkwardly, staring at her, Albus's attention was drawn to the stack of books in the corner. The three on the bottom were all very large, very old, and very bulky; Albus wondered if they might be spell books, containing new magic for him to learn. He hadn't even started school and he was bored with his textbooks already- on the first day he got them, he had sat in his room for three hours memorizing every spell within. The spells that first years learned all seemed so juvenile to him, containing nothing more interesting than turning a teacup Chihuahua into an actual teacup. Albus wanted to learn spells that were better, more powerful, but had no idea where to find them. He was reaching for one of the large tomes, hoping that McGonagall might let him borrow it, when the fourth book caught his eye.

In strong contrast to the heavy spell books beneath it, the fourth book was small, thin, and didn't appear to contain any powerful magical spells at all. It was old and worn, and looked as though it had gotten wet at least once. It was, overall, a very nondescript volume. The only thing about it that was at all extraordinary was a huge hole right through the book's center, where it looked like something had burned through it a long time ago. He wondered why anyone would want to burn a hole through something that looked so innocent. Curious, Albus picked the book up and examined its shabby black cover. There was no title, only a year: "1942-43". He flipped it open, eager to see what was written inside, but the pages were completely blank. The only thing written in the book at all was a name, scrawled in blurry blue ink in the top right hand corner of the first page: "T. M. Riddle."

"Put, it down, Potter," Albus heard McGonagall say. He dropped the book as though it had shocked him and put his hands behind his back.

"Sorry, Professor," he said quickly, moving over towards her desk to stand next to Scorpius.

"So what did you need to see me about, boys?" the headmistress asked, adjusting her spectacles. "I assume you came here to do more than just snoop around."

"Yes, Professor," said Scorpius promptly. "You see, the Sorting Hat has made a terrible mistake."

McGonagall narrowed her eyes. "The Sorting Hat doesn't make mistakes, Mr. Malfoy."

Scorpius seemed to be quailing under McGonagall's fierce gaze, so Albus finished the rest of the story. "You see, Professor," he concluded. "It would be so much easier for us to just switch houses! We've only been here one day- what difference would it make?"

McGonagall paused for a moment. "Mr. Potter," she began slowly, "sometimes what's easy isn't always what is right." There was a long silence, in which Albus and Scorpius stared at their feet, feeling as though they had been rejected but not quite sure what to say.

A bell chimed throughout the castle, sounding far away. McGonagall got to her feet and broke the silence. "You boys had better get to breakfast or you'll be late," she said. And with that, the headmistress shooed them out of her office.


	9. Chapter 9

9

There was nothing that Gary Barton liked better than a few hours to himself, walking alone. The woods behind his house had been in Gary's family for generations, and for his ancestors, too, they had been a place of repose and recreation. Today had been a long day at the bank where he worked, and Gary felt as though he deserved some time for relaxation, after nine hours of dealing with grouchy customers. So, as soon as he got home, he had taken off his tie, traded in his loafers for hiking boots, and headed down the path into the woods.

There was a wind blowing and Gary stopped for a second to feel the cool breeze on his face. At first, all he heard was the rustling of the leaves and the faint calls of the birds overhead, but after a few seconds, he was sure he heard something else, too. It sounded like voices, coming from a clearing a few yards down the path. Gary was puzzled. The woods were private property, and everyone in both Great and Little Hangleton knew that they had always belonged to the Barton family. He wasn't used to trespassers.

"Hello?" Gary called out, inching closer to the gap in the trees where the clearing began. The voices stopped. Gary took a few more steps forward, then tried again. "Who's there?" he asked. He thought he heard a voice mumble something, followed by a low chuckle.

Gary Barton was a fairly courageous man, and the risk that the voices might belong to robbers or lowlifes was greatly outweighed in his mind by the simple fact that they were trespassing in his woods. He stepped into the clearing, ready to confront one or two intruders, and was shocked to find six people, all seated on various boulders and logs. He couldn't see any of their faces because, despite the fact that it was early September and still quite warm, all six of the figures were wearing long black, hooded cloaks.

Gary cleared his throat noisily and placed his hands on his hips. One of the figures heard him and turned around; she was a woman, relatively young, with pale skin and sharp, pointed features. She might have been good-looking except for the dark, heavy bags under her eyes and the thin, sunken appearance of her face, as though she had been starving. The woman laughed when she saw Gary, a musical laugh which, like her face, managed to be chillingly unpleasant at the same time that it was pretty. "Well, look what we have here," she said in a way that suggested that these were her woods and she had caught Gary trespassing, not vice versa.

"Excuse me, ma'am," Gary replied. "I'm not sure if you and your friends were aware, but these woods are my private property and I don't wish to have any trespassers."

The figure closest to Gary stood up and removed his hood. He was a small man, whose face had the same emaciated quality about it as the woman's had. Other than that, his features were quite unremarkable, except for his eyes, which were seemingly bottomless and had an empty look which Gary had never seen in a man's face before. The man smiled wryly as he walked toward Gary, twirling in his fingers a long, slender stick which he had just picked up from off of the ground. Gary found this laughable; did the man, who was probably half his size, really intend to pick a fight with him using only this small stick in defense? The poor chap must be mad, Gary decided.

The man continued to walk toward the edge of the clearing, and Gary now noticed that he limped, greatly favoring his right leg. Somehow, this made the situation seem a bit more sinister, and Gary started to back away, suddenly finding himself wishing for his cozy house and his warm, comfortable bed. "Sir," he said, somewhat nervously, "I really don't wish to pick a fight…"

"Such a shame," the man softly sneered, "that we so often can't have all the things that we wish for."

Gary, suddenly terrified, turned to run, but the man appeared in front of him again and, without warning, pointed the stick directly at his chest. "_Avada Kedavra_," he whispered softly.

Gary Barton's eyes locked with the man's cold empty ones in the last few seconds before they closed forever.

Rodolphus Lestrange sat back down on his boulder and stowed his wand away under his cloak, looking very content with himself. "With every Muggle I kill, it feels like we're getting closer and closer," he said softly and menacingly.

"Agreed," answered Pius Thicknesse, swaying slightly to the right, a glazed expression on his face. Lestrange had to reach out and grab him to prevent him from falling off of his log entirely. Although the powerful Imperius Curse placed on him had been broken nineteen years ago, Thicknesse remained permanently addled by its effects. He was really more of a liability than an asset to the plan as far as Lestrange was concerned, but they couldn't let him stay in Azkaban. Thicknesse knew too much and couldn't be trusted to keep his mouth shut, as he usually just went along with whatever the people around him were saying.

"Just a short prelude to what will happen once we've finally taken over," sneered Walden Macnair, fingering the tiny axe that he always carried right next to his wand.

"If we can even manage it," the pessimistic Rookwood grumbled.

"Nonsense. Of course we'll manage it," said Adriana Selwyn scathingly. She leaned back slowly, allowing her pretty, pointed face to catch more of the fading sunlight. "With the Wizarding world so…how shall I put it…_lax_ with their security- why there isn't a Wanted poster in sight in Diagon Alley! The Aurors have gotten soft, spending all of their time investigating biting teapots under the direction of that spineless Minister Weasley; they won't stand a chance."

"Are you so sure these "allies" of yours are right, Selwyn?" Rookwood asked contemptuously, but Adriana shot him a look.

"They got us out of Azkaban, didn't they?" she hissed, and Rookwood fell silent. Adriana paused for a moment, letting the silence hang over them, then stood up. "I'll be back in an hour. Be ready to leave," she said.

Rodolphus Lestrange didn't even notice that she had left, so absorbed was he in his thoughts. He was remembering his wife, who had fallen so bravely during the Battle of Hogwarts, at the hands of Mudbloods and Muggle-lovers. "This is for you, Bellatrix," he whispered to himself. "This is going to be the revolution that you fought so hard for, but never saw happen. Nineteen long years overdue."


	10. Chapter 10

10

"Now, students, as I've told you before, it's all in the pronunciation: _Wingaaardium Leviohhhhsa_! Let's try saying it out loud, all together once. One, two, three…"

"_Wingaaaardium Leviohhhhsa_," the class replied in one droning, monotone voice.

"Good, class, very good!" exclaimed Professor Patil, clasping her hands together. "Now let's practice the motion, very slowly: swish and flick, swish and flick…"

Slumped in his desk in the back corner of the room, Albus was bored out of his mind. He had already made his textbook, _Adventures in Charming: Level One_, zoom around the classroom three times at floor level, but had to stop and put it back in its bag when he sensed Professor Patil getting suspicious. He had already bewitched the spider on the wall to only be able to crawl backward, but he'd undone the spell because the spider couldn't find its way back to its web and he felt bad. He had already made the feather sitting in front of him change colors from blue to pink to red to white again, then turned it into a chrysanthemum and back. He had already done everything possible, it seemed, to keep himself entertained without anyone else in the class catching on. If I hear the words "swish and flick" one more time, I think I'm going to scream, thought Albus to himself, as he tried to prevent himself from nodding off.

"Let's try them both together now!" said the Charms professor a bit too enthusiastically. "Goyle? Why don't you go first."

She pointed at a big, stocky boy in the front row, who grunted nervously. "Er…_Wingardinum Levinoosa_!" he bellowed, waving his arms like a windmill. The feather didn't budge. "_Wingandilum Leviorra_?" Jason Goyle tried once more. The feather, again, stayed put.

"Keep working on the incantation, Goyle, and remember: swish and flick, swish and flick… how about you, Burke?"

Oliver Burke, a thin, pale boy who was generally regarded as the cleverest first year in Slytherin house, stood up, cleared his throat, and rolled up his sleeves. He glanced around to make sure everyone was watching, pointed his wand at the feather, then yelled dramatically "_Wingardium Leviosa_!"

The feather skyrocketed into the air, bounced off of the ceiling, then shot up and down the rows of students, careening out of control. The first years ducked as it zoomed over their heads, and a few of the girls screamed as it passed them. Oliver stared at the feather in confusion, his eyes wide as it exploded down the last row, the pointy end aimed directly at Albus's forehead.

With a lazy flick of his wand, Albus stopped it in midair. As the class watched in amazement, the feather did three quick backflips right in a row, then flitted lightly and daintily back to the dumbstruck Oliver Burke, where it coasted to a neat stop in the middle of his desk. A hush fell over the room as the first years looked from Albus to the feather, then back again.

The silence was broken by Professor Patil. " Ten points from Slytherin, Potter. Stay with the class."

Albus hadn't enjoyed his first few days at Hogwarts. Charms wasn't the only subject in which he was hopelessly ahead; in every class from Transfiguration to Astronomy he felt as though he was being forced to relearn his alphabet. He spent most of his time in the back row, alternately napping and trying to keep himself amused by putting small, pointless enchantments on the objects around him. He only answered questions or performed spells in front of the class if his professors forced him, then sat down as quickly as he could, usually blushing. Albus's obvious talent for magic, however much he tried to hide it, did not go unnoticed among his fellow Slytherins, especially the jealous Oliver Burke. Through the use of the rather complex Ear Extension charm, he had managed to eavesdrop on many distasteful conversations that the other first years were having about him, which often resulted in him feeling sick to his stomach and wishing he hadn't listened. Needless to say, Albus wasn't very popular; Burke and the others made sure of that. For any normal student, his situation may have been unpleasant, but for the shy and socially awkward Albus, Hogwarts was a waking nightmare.

The only class that didn't feel like hell to Albus was Potions. It often seemed to him like nothing could go wrong in the cool, quiet dungeon classroom, with candles flickering on the walls and cauldrons softly bubbling. Potions was the only class where Albus's talents weren't forcibly shown off to his tormentors; they were hidden, instead, inside his pewter cauldron, which he had come to appreciate much more than his wand. Professor Zabini, the Potions Master, didn't try to hold Albus back or force him to stay with the other students. As a matter of fact, he encouraged him to come early to class and pick out more complex recipes to do, instead of the simple ones that the other first years were still struggling with. His work was passed back to him in a clear, glass vial just like everyone else's, with the same black, spiky grade scrawled on the top. Albus always got a warm, fuzzy feeling inside when he held that vial, a feeling which almost made him think he was normal.

Another reason that Albus like Potions so much was that it was the only class that Slytherins and Gryffindors had together- his only class to see his friends Rose and Scorpius. Albus missed spending all day with his cousin like they always had, ever since they were babies. They were as different as two people could possibly be, but Rose and Albus had always been best friends. It was Rose who had stood up for Albus when the neighborhood boys had teased him, who had whispered sarcastic comments about Uncle Percy to keep him from dying of boredom at family reunions, who had prevented him from accidentally burning down the house with out-of-control magic when he got too angry. It was Albus who had listened to Rose's plans for greatness and promised to go with her to battle dragons and giants and Dark wizards, who had let her copy his homework when she had forgotten to do it the night before, who had calmly defended her to her mother when she ran off to play Quidditch for the fifth time that week. Together, they had suffered through five years of Muggle elementary school, Rose's dad's attempts at cooking, and their first panicked trip through the invisible barrier leading to Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. Now they saw each other for two hours every other day.

Aside from Rose, Scorpius was the only other first year that Albus thought of as a friend. Like Albus, he had always been considered odd and was used to being given funny looks. He felt as out of place in Gryffindor house as Albus felt in Slytherin, and was as eager to prove himself as Albus was to fade into the background. Albus felt as though he understood Scorpius's fear of his parents, which was strangely coupled with a desire to please them. Scorpius, in turn, seemed to understand Albus's longing to be just like any other eleven-year-old wizard. Sitting at their table in the Potions room with Scorpius and Rose, Albus actually felt as though coming to Hogwarts was worthwhile.

Just that Monday, however, Albus had received some news that had made his heart both leap with delight and pound with anxiety. The poster, which Albus had seen upon arriving in the Great Hall for breakfast, read:

Flying Lessons

First Years Only

Ravenclaws/Hufflepuffs- Tuesdays, 8-9 am

Gryffindors/Slytherins- Thursdays, 9-10 am

All lessons will take place on the West side of Potter Stadium

Questions? Talk to your Head of House and ask to meet with Coach Wood.

Albus's first reaction to this notice had been one of happiness. Flying lessons meant more time out of the classroom and less opportunities for boredom and unpopularity. Besides, Slytherins and Gryffindors were together yet again, meaning more time for Albus to spend with his friends. On the other hand, however, the notion of flying was not one that particularly appealed to Albus. Like most Wizarding children, he had been given a toy broomstick at a young age, but unlike his peers, Albus had only touched his broom once or twice. While his siblings and cousins had graduated to full-size adult brooms quickly, Albus had found himself unable to get over his fear of heights, and had insisted on remaining on firm, solid ground. He knew that it was an unusual plight to have; both of the elder Potters had played on the Gryffindor Quidditch team back in their day, with his father, the Hogwarts stadium's namesake, being arguably the best Seeker in school history. James, Albus's older brother, had eagerly carried on the Potter Quidditch tradition upon arriving at Hogwarts. In only his third year, he had shown exceptional prowess and had become the youngest member of the Gryffindor team that season. Now that he was a fifth year, James was the team's star Beater, and was considered a shoo-in for being chosen for the captain position once the season started.

Albus often felt inferior to his brother, and Quidditch wasn't the only reason. Unlike his younger brother, James Potter was the most popular boy in his house, with scores of friends, clusters of girls, and a Prefect badge to prove it. His grades, though not exemplary, were still quite good, especially considering the minimal time that the elder Potter spent on his studies. Despite the lack of effort, however, James was a favorite with all of his teachers, due to his natural charm and inborn intelligence. Students and teachers alike fell in love with James's sparkling personality from the moment they met him, a feat which Albus, who struggled to make even a few friends, could never even hope to match.

Perhaps these flying lessons were the answer, Albus had decided as he stared at the poster in the Great Hall. Not only would he get to see his friends, but he would also have a chance to prove that he wasn't a freak. If he could fly as well as the rest of his family, the famous Potter Quidditch tradition would hopefully attach itself to him and mask his awkward personality. Flying was the key to success, and to preserving his image, not only in his own eyes but also in the eyes of his family. But the main reason that Albus was excited to fly had nothing to do with his classmates, his family or his reputation; by facing his fears, Albus could show his bravery, and prove that he was a Gryffindor once and for all.


	11. Chapter 11

11

"You should tell them, Harry," Ginny whispered, gripping her husband's arm. Harry stared at the top of the polished mahogany table and made no reply. "They need to know," Ginny continued after a pause.

"My scar hurt," Harry mumbled, still refusing to make eye contact with anyone in the room.

"Your what?" Hermione demanded, leaping to her feet.

"My scar hurt," he repeated, a little bit louder. "Just last night. The first time in nineteen years."

"And you didn't say anything?" said Hermione incredulously, placing her hands on her hips.

"I didn't think it was important," Harry answered. "Until now." The room was silent.

"I'm at a loss to explain how the last six living Death Eaters managed to escape from Azkaban," Bill finally interjected. "Those were the highest security cells in the place-ten dementors at least guarding each one. Even disregarding the fact that the inmates were wandless and in a weakened state, they still shouldn't have stood a chance. Not even Albus Dumbledore himself could have done it."

"If they're already killing Muggles, it must mean they're armed as well," Hermione mused. "That makes them even more dangerous."

"Although their obvious disregard for secrecy seems to be a week point," Kingsley replied, leaning back in his chair.

"Of course!" Worrell shouted. "They underestimate us! The fools think they can get past the Ministry of Magic, but they are wrong!" He pounded his fist on the table and looked around as though he was expecting applause for his short speech.

"Shut up, Worrell, you spilled the coffee," said Ron lazily, using his wand to siphon up the remains of the drink that Percy had left behind. "Personally, I don't see what all the hype is about. There's only six of them, they're weak, and Voldemort has been dead nineteen years. We'll start searching and have them tracked down in a few weeks."

The other Aurors looked at each other, not seeming to share Ron's perspective. Then Ginny suddenly leaped to her feet. "Lily and Hugo," she said shakily, gripping the edge of the table. "They're alone." Without another word, she dashed out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

"Wherever the Death Eaters are, I can guarantee you they're not creeping around Godric's Hollow," Ron grumbled. Harry had to agree with his friend, but he found himself feeling a little nervous nevertheless.

"It won't hurt anything to bring Lily and Hugo here," Hermione reasoned. "Maggie at the front desk can watch them until the meeting is over. I didn't think leaving them all by themselves was that great of an idea anyway."

"Didn't Percy say the Muggle woman was killed near Little Hangleton?" Harry asked suddenly, somewhat lost in thought.

"Yes, in nearby Great Hangleton, why?" Kingsley replied.

"That's the town where Voldemort was born." Harry suddenly felt very cold and, for the first time in nineteen years, a little afraid.

"Coincidence, coincidence," said Finch casually, waving his hand. "These escapees are obviously only interested in killing Muggles, so all we have to do is follow the trail of Muggle blood and there they'll be!" He clapped his hands together, sounding almost cheerful.

"I think we can safely say they have motives other than that," Kingsley replied, raising his eyebrows. Under different circumstances, he may have even rolled his eyes.

"The only question is what those motives are," Harry murmured. He rubbed his scar uncomfortably in remembrance of last night's pain, a motion which didn't escape Hermione's notice. She narrowed her eyes with what seemed like a combination of anger and uncertainty.

There was a loud pop and Ginny reappeared, gasping for air and clutching a stitch in her side. Harry caught her as she collapsed against his chair, a crazed look in her eye.

"Excuse me! Apparition upon Ministry premises is an outright security violation!" shouted Worrell. Everyone ignored him as Ginny stood up, still panting.

"They're not there," she said quietly. "Lily and Hugo are gone."


	12. Chapter 12

12

"Hey, Partridge, can you pass the jam?" Rose demanded. She sunk her knife into the dish of preserves and began spreading them on her toast as she eagerly scanned the sky, waiting for the rush of wings that would signal the arrival of the morning post. Up and down the long Gryffindor table, students were doing the same thing, anxiously anticipating the arrival of letters and packages from their families. All but Scorpius, who, as always, was seated on Rose's left, intently studying for that afternoon's Transfiguration test.

Mail never came for Scorpius like it did for all of his friends, a fact which really didn't bother him very much. He had spent his whole life being ignored by his parents, so the fact that they never wrote him wasn't a surprise to Scorpius at all. He was certainly not about to send them any letters; that would mean writing detailed descriptions of his new friends and his activities since he had arrived at school, all of which, Scorpius was certain, his parents would disapprove of. He had quickly found that boys like the jam-hogging Anthony Partridge, who had been raised by Muggle greengrocers, and the tiny Mason Fleshing, who's father edited a widely respected Muggle newspaper, were actually rather intelligent and equally talented at magic. His closest friend at Hogwarts, Rose Weasley, although not Muggle-born, had parents famous for their pro-Muggle leanings, considering the roles that they had played in the Second Wizarding War. Scorpius knew that his proud parents, who obsessed over their pure bloodlines, would not approve of their son's choice of companions.

Then there was the issue of the house mix-up. Scorpius had not told his parents about the incident and didn't plan to- things would only be made worse for him if he did. All that aside, however, Scorpius had found himself rather enjoying Gryffindor house; he got along well with all of his classmates there and, for the first time in his life, had made a number of real friends. All of the pureblood kids, the sons and daughters of his parents' friends who had taunted and teased him for practically his whole life, were enjoying themselves in the dungeons of Slytherin house, a place where Scorpius was now very happy that he was not. The only Slytherin that Scorpius considered a friend was Albus Potter, the boy that he had met in front of the Headmistress's office on his first morning at Hogwarts. Albus was an odd, quiet boy of incredible talent, who many of the first years shunned, but Scorpius had taken a liking to. He was Rose's cousin, and the three of them had spent many hours together in Potions class, or otherwise amusing themselves on the grounds of Hogwarts. Overall, the three weeks that Scorpius had spent at Hogwarts had been the happiest days of his life, and he didn't particularly want a letter from his parents to come and spoil it all. But of course it did.

"Scorpius!" He had been so immersed in his Transfiguration textbook that he hadn't even noticed that Rose was poking him persistently in the shoulder. When he turned around, she handed him a heavy box with brown wrapping and a note attached to the top. The mail had arrived, and Scorpius, the kid who never got any mail, had just received the biggest package at the table. He noticed the other Gryffindors staring and, blushing a little, started to hide the box under his chair. He didn't particularly want to open it- knowing his father, it was probably a shrunken head or something else equally terrible from Borgin and Burkes.

But Rose, of course, wasn't going to let it go. "Open it," she insisted, shoving the package back under Scorpius's nose. He shook his head, but she persisted. "You do it, or I will," she demanded. He gave her a sideways glare and began to unfold the note.

_Scorpius,_ it read

_Your Mother's Great- Aunt's estate has been settled. Most of it was divided up in a logical and sensible manner. However, although Marelda Black left no will, she did leave behind a statement saying that she wished for you to have the contents of this package. This makes no sense because, as far as your Mother and I are aware, she never even knew you existed. But her wishes must be followed, I suppose, so attached is your inheritance. I do not see how it will be of any use to you; I have repeatedly tried to get it to open, but it refuses. There is no key._

_ Your Mother and I hope that you are keeping up with your studies, associating with suitable people, and not disgracing the family. We will see you at Christmas._

_Father _

Scorpius swallowed hard. Aware that Rose was trying to peek over his shoulder, he crumpled up the letter and shoved it into the pocket of his robes before she could get the chance to see. He was getting a feeling, a cold and clammy one that he had experienced daily while living under his parents' roof. He had been free of that sensation for three glorious weeks, but now it was returning: the feeling of never being good enough.

Trying to shake it off, Scorpius turned his attention to the package. He removed the brown paper slowly and methodically, taking care not to disturb whatever the contents were inside. Rose, who was not a fan of suspense, bounced eagerly beside her friend as he unwrapped, begging him silently to hurry up. Several other curious onlookers from further down the Gryffindor table also craned their necks in curiosity. They were disappointed, however, when Scorpius pulled from the pile of wrapping a plain, nondescript wooden box. It was about the size and shape of Scorpius's Transfiguration textbook, was polished nicely, and was sealed in the front with a dainty silver lock. Like his father had said, there was no key.

"_Alohomora_," Rose commanded, pointing her wand at the locked box. It was a good try, but it didn't come as a surprise to Scorpius when the box refused to open. After all, his father had said that he had tried everything. As Rose shoved her wand back in her robes with discouragement, Scorpius turned the box over in his hands, examining it from every angle. It was perfectly smooth, with no cracks, crevasses or wrinkles in the wood. Scorpius was at a loss to see how it could ever be opened.

A chime signaled the end of breakfast, and students from all four tables began to exit the Hall. Suddenly, Scorpius remembered that today was not an ordinary day- it was the day of the first Gryffindor/Slytherin flying lesson! The thing that Scorpius missed most about home- the only thing he really missed- was his toy broomstick, and the sense of freedom that he had felt, flying alone and away from everything. Today was the day that he got to return to the air, for the first time in almost a month. His heart leaping with excitement, Scorpius shoved the box into his bag along with his textbooks and rushed out of the Great Hall with all of the other First Years, all thoughts of his ancient relative's strange gift gone from his mind.


End file.
